


Stay

by roebling



Series: Calling the Moon [1]
Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, One Shot, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-14
Updated: 2010-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-23 05:22:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roebling/pseuds/roebling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a child, Brendon had never been allowed to have a pet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

As a child, Brendon had never been allowed to have a pet. Too messy, his mother had said. Too much work. Brendon had seven older brothers and sisters, and there was already more than enough for his mother to do.

He toyed with the idea of getting a cat after he moved out into his own place. It was lonely, living by himself, and the prospect of soft, sleek kitten twining around his ankles as he stepped through the front door was comforting. But Brendon's schedule was unpredictable: he worked long hours in a bar downtown, and he was gone for days at a time sometimes when Shane needed help with a shoot. It wasn't fair to bring a pet into such an unpredictable environment, so Brendon pushed the thought to the back of his mind.

None of that really explained why Brendon decided to keep the dog.

The noise that woke Brendon from his troubled sleep was like something from a horror movie: low, keening, full of pain. It was so unearthly that for a moment he didn't realize he had woken from his dreams. He waited a minute, listening, eyes staring up at the nothing of his dark ceiling. The noise did not stop. He should have rolled over and closed his eyes and ignored it but he couldn't. Whoever -- whatever -- was making that noise needed help.

He grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen and hesitantly opened the back door. The moon was full but hidden by a sheet of thick clouds. The lamp by the back door pushed back the dark a few yards, but the night beyond that was thick and dense. He clicked on the flashlight. Nothing.

He took a tentative step forward. The noise was coming from beyond the property line, where the grass and scrubby shrubs gave way to red dirt and cacti. There was a gully, dry now but flooded in the summer when late afternoon storms quenched the land. Brendon scrambled down the side, losing his footing once or twice. He'd lived here for two years, but he didn't come back this far often. There was just the gully, then flat desert, and then, much further, the dark mountains.

The dog laid in a crevice. When Brendon fixed the flashlight on him, his eyes shone like silver disks. His fur was ashy in the dark, and it was blackened with blood on one side. He was a huge dog, maybe the biggest that Brendon had ever seen, but there was so much fear in his wide eyes that Brendon didn't even think before smoothing a hand consolingly over one soft ear. The dog tensed and Brendon froze. There had been reports in the newspaper lately about opossums and raccoons found dead, their throats torn out by some much larger animal. He should have called animal control. His heart thrummed rapid in his chest. The dog sniffed once, then again. His jaws could close easily over narrow of Brendon's wrist. He sniffed then whimpered and the fur on his back relaxed. He pressed a cool, wet nose into Brendon's hand.

"Good boy," Brendon said, faintly. "Good boy."

The dog was heavy and Brendon barely managed to carry him back to the house. He got some old sheets from the closet and tried to coax the dog to lay on them. Brendon was a vegetarian; he didn't have anything in the house he thought the dog would eat. He could run to the convenience store to buy some cans of wet food, but he didn't want to leave the dog alone. He'd go in the morning. He filled a bowl with water, but the dog made no move to drink. It was hard to tell if he was still bleeding. He hadn't so much as nipped at Brendon, but when he tried to part the dark, matted fur to see the wound, the dog growled low in his throat. Brendon didn't press his luck. He sat with his knees to his chest on the dirty linoleum of his kitchen floor. He had to watch the dog, even though he'd done all he could think to do for it. He wanted badly for the dog to survive. His eyes were closed now, but Brendon had seen them as he'd settled the dog on the blankets. They were a bright, startling blue.

Brendon woke in the morning with a stiff neck. For an instant, it seemed the prior night's adventures had been a dream; he couldn't imagine what he was doing on the kitchen floor. Then, he saw the dog and remembered. In the light of morning, the dog's fur was ashy blond, lighter than it had seemed the night before. It graded towards chestnut on his muzzle and ears and the tip of his tail. He was a big dog, yes, but he was rangy, and beneath his thick coat his ribs were too prominent. Still, he was a beautiful dog.

"I bet someone misses you, huh?" Brendon said. He placed a gentle hand on one of the dog's paws, but the dog didn't stir. He slept while Brendon showered and he slept while Brendon did the dishes. Brendon drove to the pet store over near the mall to get food and a collar and leash, and when he got back the dog was still sleeping, had not moved so much as an inch. Fear clenched his stomach in a vice. It wasn't normal for a dog to sleep so much, not even a hurt dog. Brendon knew that. He knew he ought to call a vet, but he really didn't have any money to spare. He'd paid for the dog food with the money from his laundry fund; he'd be doing his wash in the bathtub, this week. He knew he could still call animal control, knew they'd come and they'd take the dog and that would be the end of it for Brendon, but he thought of doing so seemed impossibly cruel, like giving up a dear friend. Brendon didn't have many of those to spare.

That afternoon, he woke the dog up long enough to get him to drink some water. He lifted his head only inches, and his pink tongue lapped softly. Those blue eyes were dull and unfocused. Brendon watched some brainless movie on television to distract himself. The dog did not move from the kitchen. All the next day he slept. Brendon didn't think he was bleeding any longer but still couldn't get close enough to be sure. The water bowl was empty when he checked it, which Brendon took as a good sign, but the food hadn't been touched. Brendon had to work that night. He sat with the dog for a while and rubbed behind his ear, and left fresh food and water. All night he felt uneasy. All night he was distracted, confusing drink orders and unable to make playful conversation with the people at the bar. His tips suffered and Ian even asked if he was sick. The sleepless nights and worry were catching up with him. When he got home, he passed out on his bed without even taking off his jeans.

He woke with a start early the next morning. The dog was sitting next to his bed, still as a statue but watching Brendon with unnerving intensity. His expression was grave but his eyes looked a little clearer.

"I guess you're on the mend, buddy," Brendon said.

The dog said nothing but tipped his head in such a way that it almost looked like he was nodding.

On the mend, yes, but not well. The dog followed Brendon into the kitchen, walking slowly with an awkward gait. He panted, tongue lolling, and dropped heavily to the floor. Brendon saw he'd eaten some of the food he'd left, so he filled up that bowl and his water. The dog drank gratefully. As Brendon went about his business that day, the dog followed him from room to room. He sat at Brendon's feet while ate breakfast. He curled up in a ball next to Brendon's bed while he folded laundry. He never barked, and once he'd settled in a spot he never moved until Brendon did, but his silent presence was welcome.

Brendon worked that night. The next morning when he woke, the dog was again by his bedside. Brendon smiled to see him. That afternoon they went to the park. The dog avoided the dog run, and shied away from other dogs. All the other dogs avoided him too, flattening their ears and dropping their tails between their legs. Brendon smiled apologetically at the other dog owners. It wasn't his fault his dog was kind of a bad ass. They found an area that was mostly empty and Brendon tried to get the dog to catch a stick. He held the stick enticingly in front of the dog's nose, and threw it as far as he could. The dog sat calmly and fixed him with a glare.

Brendon ended up retrieving all the sticks he'd thrown.

When they got home, Brendon herded the dog into the back yard and fixed his leash to one of the banisters on the deck. He got his favorite coconut shampoo from the bathroom and turned on the hose. The dog tried to pull away as soon as he saw the water, but Brendon held him in place gently. Wet, he was a pitiful sight. He gave Brendon his saddest look as he worked the shampoo into a lather. As soon as he was rinsed, he shook mightily. If Brendon hadn't known better, he would have thought it was on purpose.

It was pretty nice, having a dog. It filled up all the long hours that Brendon had always struggled to make meaningful. His dog was awesome too. Even at first when he'd been really sick, he never went in the house. When he needed to go out he sat at the back door, and if Brendon took too long, he would come and tug gently on the cuff of Brendon's pants. Brendon thought it was coincidence the first few times, but the dog had totally figured out how to change the channel on the television by stepping on the remote. Once, when Brendon was hours deep in a Degrassi marathon, the dog was sitting on the floor in front the couch, whining and nudging Brendon's foot with his nose. His whining grew more pitiful. Finally, he picked up the remote in his mouth and dropped it on the floor. He pounced on it, as though it were some hapless prey. Brendon straddled his back and tried to wrestle the remote away but the dog held it fast in his mouth. He stood up fast, throwing Brendon off, and ran to the other side of the couch. Dropping the remote, he sat on it, and grinned at Brendon almost as if taunting him.

Yeah, he was a pretty awesome dog.

Some nights they sat out back on the porch under the sequined sky. The neighboring houses were distant; their warmly-lit windows were the size of postage stamps. Sometimes Brendon dug his guitar out from the back of his closet; after all his teenaged dreams of rock-stardom had faded, he didn't often make time to play. His voice was unsure at first, but it carried far in the silence. The dog rested his heavy head on Brendon's knee and smiled, sharp and canine and familiar. He was warm against Brendon's side. Brendon scratched behind his ear, and his mouth fell open in a grin. Brendon started on another song, sometime nameless and wordless he'd written himself. It almost seemed as though the dog's tail wagged in time with the beat, thumping out a steady rhythm.

Brendon started to notice strange things happening around the house. One day when he was sure he'd done all the dishes before going to work he came home to find a dirty plate and cup in the sink. Sometimes there were wet towels on the bathroom floor when Brendon was sure he'd picked his up after showering. When he turned on the television, it was almost always tuned to CNN, even though Brendon rarely watched the news. Strange. It was definitely strange. All Brendon could figure was that the dog was talking up so much more of his time that these things were slipping his mind. There was no other explanation.

He'd just gotten back for taking the dog for a run in the park one sunny afternoon when there was a knock at the door.

"One second," Brendon shouted.

The dog barked once, sharp, and bolted towards the living room. Brendon ran after, skidding around the corner. Shane stood on the other side of the glass, eyes wide and arms raised defensively. The dog's teeth were bared and all the hair on his back and shoulders bristled. He looked massive and fierce, and for the first time in weeks Brendon remembered that it was an animal of unknown temperament he had taken into his home, one that could do great harm if he decided to.

"Stop it," Brendon said. "You big dummy. Stop!" His hand were shaking but he grabbed the dog by the collar and yanked him back. The dog's eyes flashed and he growled once, but he sat and let Brendon get the front door open.

"What the fuck, dude?" Shane asked. "Nice homecoming you arranged." Shane had been on tour for six weeks, shooting for a label.

"Sorry," Brendon said. "Sorry. I guess I don't have many visitors."

"Seriously," Shane said. "What's with the dog?"

"I found him in the back yard," Brendon said. "He was hurt."

Shane dropped his backpack on the couch. The dog glared at him, but went to lay in the corner. "He's a monster, Bren. He must be a hundred pounds. Do you think he's part wolf?"

"He's a gentle giant," Brendon said. "He's just protective."

"What's his name?" Shane asked.

"Uh," Brendon said. "I didn't name him."

Shane gave him a look.

"It didn't seem right!" Brendon said. "He's already got a name. I can't just make up a new one."

Shane laughed and laughed at that. "Maybe he's named Fluffy. He looks like a Fluffy to me."

The dog looked up and barked.

"Oh, he doesn't like that," Shane said. "How about Fido? Spot?"

The dog snorted angrily and laid down again, curling himself in a tight ball with his tail tucked over his nose.

"Cut it out," Brendon said. "You're hurting his feelings."

"Chill," Shane said. "It's a dog, dude. He doesn't have feelings to get hurt."

"Shut up," Brendon said. "He's sensitive. Leave my sensitive dog alone and tell me about tour, you ass."

Shane rolled his eyes and launched into a story about racing go-karts around an empty arena with half of Fall Out Boy. To say that Brendon wasn't a little jealous would have been a lie, but he still loved to hear about all of Shane's adventures. They moved to the kitchen. Brendon put a frozen pizza in the oven and grabbed some beers from the fridge. The dog followed, head hung, but not letting Brendon out of his sight.

It was quarter to eleven by the time Shane left that night. His girlfriend was out of town and he was in no rush to go home to an empty house. Brendon understood that. Normally, he was glad for any company he could get, but with the dog acting so out of sorts it was a relief when Shane finally pulled out of the driveway. As soon as Brendon shut the door, the dog came and sat at this side, leaning all his weight against Brendon's leg.

"Shane's my friend," he said, reproachfully. "You have to be nice to him."

The dog didn't have the decency to look ashamed.

The next morning as they were eating breakfast, Brendon said, "I really should give you a name."

The dog looked up for a moment before returning to his food.

"What about Storm? That has a lot of mystique" Brendon said.

The dog whined disapprovingly. He lapped at his water and then came to sit at Brendon's feet.

"Fine," Brendon said. "What about umm .. Thor? That's a pretty rugged name. Nobody's going to mess with a dog named Thor."

The dog closed his eyes and wrinkled his nose.

"Okay, okay, no Norse deities ..." Brendon took a sip of coffee. "How about Spike?"

The dog snorted.

"Fine, fine," Brendon said. "Sorry my name skills aren't up to your standards. I guess I'm going to have to think of something especially awesome."

The dog looked up, smiling his doggish smile. Brendon grinned stupidly. He didn't know if it was kind of pathetic or kind of great, but he was pretty sure the dog was his best friend.

A month after the night Brendon found the dog, he decided they should do something special. He didn't make much money tending bar, so he booked a camping space for five dollars at the state park. They drove out in the morning, the radio blasting. The dog stuck his head out the window. Brendon struggled with the tent. The dog sat by and watched. When the tent was standing, if not properly pitched, Brendon changed into his swim trunks and they went down to the lake. Brendon ran in, splashing like a maniac. The dog waded gingerly at the edge.

"Come on," Brendon shouted. "Don't be a wimp."

The dog glared at him. His eyes were bright. He barked and charged, kicking up spray. Brendon laughed and swam to meet him. Later, Brendon found a tennis ball which he threw and the dog grudgingly retrieved. That night, he made a fire and roasted hot dogs. The dog preferred his with mustard and relish, which Brendon thought was disgusting. After he'd scarfed three he looked up. There was mustard smeared all over his muzzle.

"You've got ..." Brendon gestured at his own face.

The dog frowned and tried to lick all the mustard away. He looked ridiculous and Brendon couldn't help but laugh. The dog glared and then bounded forward, and he was licking Brendon's face, his paws on Brendon's shoulders. Brendon tried to push him away halfheartedly.

"Gross," he said, wiping at his mouth. "Dog germs."

That night the dog slept beside him in the little tent. It was chilly out in the mountains after the sun went down, and Brendon was glad for his warmth. The sun had exhausted him, but he laid up for a long time, listening to the dog's steady breathing. He threw one arm over the dog's furry side, and eventually he slept.

Brendon's mother rarely called him, and it was never good news when she did. It had been weeks since she'd last called when Brendon's phone rang one afternoon.

"It's been so long since we've talked," she said, after he'd said hello. "You never call me, Brendon."

"Sorry, Ma," he said. She told the truth, but he'd come to think it was better if he didn't call. He could at least pretend that he had something resembling a relationship with his parents as long as he didn't talk to them. "I've been busy."

"Oh?" she asked. "With what? Did you go back to school yet?"

That was a sore spot. "No," he said. "Not yet."

"Your cousin Suzanne just got accepted at Brigham Young," his mom said.

"That's great," Brendon said, feigning enthusiasm. "Tell her I said congratulations."

His mother sighed.

"I got a dog," he said quickly.

"That's nice," his mother said, after pause that lasted a moment too long. "What did you name it?"

"Um, nothing yet," Brendon said. "I haven't figured out the right name."

"You haven't named it? But you can't train him until you've given him a name, dear."

"He's really well behaved, Mom," Brendon said. "He's super smart. Seriously."

"I'm sure he is, honey," she said. "It sound like you're taking good care of him."

That was the kind of nonsense platitude his mother resorted to when she had nothing nice to say. The tone of voice was the same tone she used when talking to the neighbors she secretly didn't like.

"He's a really great dog," Brendon said, stubbornly.

"I believe you, Brendon," she said. "I just worry about you, honey. I wish you weren't living all on your own. I know how lonely it must be. Having a pet is wonderful, but it doesn't take the place of being in a loving relationship with a nice young woman ...."

"Fuck," Brendon said. His eyes stuck, and he felt his cheeks grow hot. "You do this every time, Mom. Why can't you just be happy that I got a dog? Why does it always have to come back to that?"

"Watch your language, young man," his mother said, sharply. "I am happy for you, Brendon, but I'm your mother. I want the best of everything for you. I know you think that you're ... I know that you think that you don't want to get married, but I know how happy you would be with someone to love you."

"Mom," he said. "Please." Tears traveled slowly down his cheeks. "When I meet a man and he's the right one, he will love me."

His mother's voice cracked, like she's swallowed down a sob. "Honey, I know you think that but one day you're going to realize ..."

"I'm not," he said. His voice was choked. "I'm not going to realize anything. I realized a long time ago that I was gay. It's not just going to go away."

"Baby ...," she said, but he didn't hear the rest because he hung up.

It hurt. Every time it hurt even though he ought to know what was coming and steeled his soul for the pain. His eyes stung and his cheeks were raw. The pillow was wet from his tears. The bed dipped. It was the dog. He pressed close to Brendon, ears flat back against his head. His nose was wet and his tongue was rough as he licked Brendon's cheeks and nose. It tickled. Brendon's heart ached but he rolled on his side and pushed the dog away.

"Cut it out," he said, weakly. The dog pressed his nose against Brendon's neck. Brendon smiled and wrapped his arms around the dog. He pressed his face into the dog's soft fur. The dog was still and calm, breathing slowly, head tucked over Brendon's shoulder. They stayed like that for a long time, until the ache in Brendon's chest started to fade and he felt dumb and drowsy. "Thanks," he whispered, but the dog was already asleep.

Brendon woke up in an instant sometime later. The light was on and he didn't feel the dog at his side. He rolled over slowly to shut off the light and froze. There was a man laying next to him.

He backed up so quickly he fell off the bed.

The man stretched slowly, and rolled over. He was young, likely no older than Brendon, and his features were on the pretty side of handsome.

Brendon had never seen him before.

"Who the fuck are you?" he asked. His voice was unsteady.

The man sat up and yawned. "What are you doing, Brendon?" he asked. "It's three in the morning." He opened his eyes. They were bright blue.

"Holy fuck," Brendon said. He backed up slowly.

The man's eyes opened wide. "Oh no." He looked down at himself. "Oh no, no."

Brendon felt like he couldn't breath. His chest was tight. His mouth was dry. He scrambled to his feet.

"Brendon," the man said. "Just wait. I can explain. I'm sorry."

"No," Brendon said. "No, no. I don't know ... I don't know what the fuck is going on but there is no fucking way this could possibly make sense."

He had to leave. He had to leave and when he came back his dog would be curled up next to his bed and this would all have been some horrible nightmare. He yanked open his closet and grabbed a sweatshirt. The man scrambled out of bed, half tangled in the sheets. Underneath, he was naked. Brendon looked away.

"Please," the man plead. "Don't leave, Brendon. Please don't leave me."

Brendon closed his eyes. For one moment he was undecided, but the man was staring at him with those familiar eyes and it was just too much. It was too much and Brendon had to leave. He grabbed his keys from the kitchen table. He didn't listen to see if the man followed. He slammed the front door and found he was crying again. He drove far and fast down the empty night roads. There was nothing to say or think that would calm him. It was a dream. It was a mistake. It couldn't be true. Dogs didn't turn into people. They just didn't.

He drove until his eyes hurt and it was an effort to keep his head upright. Then he pulled over on the shoulder of some desolate desert road and reclined his seat and slept, more lonely than he'd ever been in his life.

The dog wasn't waiting by the door when Brendon opened it the next morning. His heart dropped in his chest like it was made of lead. He shut the door slowly.

The man was sitting at the kitchen table, wearing a pair of Brendon's sweatpants and sipping a cup of coffee.

"Hey," he said. "Um."

"I didn't think you'd stay," Brendon said.

"I wanted to explain," the man said.

"I really don't think I want to hear it," Brendon said. He leaned back against the counter. All his emotions had leaked out with his tears, and now he felt only his exhaustion.

The man sighed. "My name is Spencer," he said. "Um. I'm a werewolf."

Brendon snorted. "I don't ... I seriously can't believe you just said that."

"Is there some other explanation that you know of for a dog spontaneously changing into a man?" He rolled his eyes. "Anyway, I should say thank you. You saved me."

"What?" Brendon asked.

"My pack was raiding a cattle farm, and I was hurt," Spencer said. "They left me. I couldn't hunt and I was ... I probably would have starved."

"They left you when you were hurt?" Brendon asked.

"You wouldn't understand," Spencer said, shaking his head. "It was my fault I got hurt, and I was a burden on the pack. They had to go."

"But you would have died," Brendon said. He'd known the dog ... Spencer ... was hurt, but he hadn't realized it was that bad. He could see the scar on Spencer's side that had been hidden by the dog's fur.

"But I found you," Spencer protested. "You saved my life."

"But I don't ... Why didn't you just uh, turn into a person and go to a hospital?" Brendon shook his head. It didn't make any sense. There was no way it could, but he wanted to understand.

Spencer tipped his head, and his hair fell in front of his face. "We can't let humans know," he said, sadly. "They would have found the blood on me from the cattle, and seen the wound, and I couldn't have explained. They would have asked questions. Revealing ourselves is like treason. No pack would ever take a wolf back who'd shown himself to a human."

"But why did you stay?" Brendon asked. "Why didn't you just go back to them? You were better. You couldn't have pretended to be a dog forever, could you?"

"Ugh, no. I hope I never eat dog food again as long as I live." He made a disgusted face. "I was going to go back to them," he said. "I was going to go, but ... you were so lonely. You saved my life. The least I could do was be your friend."

Brendon closed his eyes. "But I know now. I know that you're ..."

"A werewolf."

"Yeah," Brendon said, swallowing. "That."

"It was an accident," Spencer said. "I didn't mean to turn back, but it's hard to stay as a wolf for too long. You start to forget what it's like to be human. You have to struggle not to forget. Being with you reminded me."

"Oh," Brendon said, quietly. Spencer sipped his coffee. It was unsettling how familiar his long limbs and easy smile were. Everything felt familiar. He felt like he fit.

"You can't go back to your pack?" Brendon asked.

Spencer shook his head. "No," he said. "They'd know, and if I tried to keep it secret, their anger would be even worse."

"What are you going to do?"

Spencer frowned. "It's not that bad, being alone. I'll head somewhere out of the way, isolated. I don't exactly need much ..."

"Or you could stay here," Brendon said, quickly. "I mean, since I know already. It would probably be easier than living in the woods. I wouldn't even make you eat dog food any more."

Spencer laughed. It was a wonderful sound. "That's generous of you," he said. He looked up, and his blue eyes shone. "I mean, I'd really like that."

Brendon smiled.


End file.
